Little Fish
by Eeks
Summary: Angel is visited by an old friend as he waits at the bottom of the ocean.


*****  
  
He couldn't hear the movement of the water or the noises of the  
  
creature of the deep - his only companions in his prison, assuming  
  
that they made any noise at all that could travel through the murky  
  
water. The coffin was airtight, no sound entered at all. It made the  
  
scene before him seem a little like a silent movie, one that went on  
  
forever and had no plot, simply endless repetition. Fish swims past,  
  
hides in the weeds, darts out and eats the smaller fish. He supposed  
  
it could be considered a down scaled Shakespearean tragedy, the  
  
struggle of the everyman to overcome destiny. He supposed that in  
  
life he had turned into the smaller fish.  
  
That was, of course, when he allowed himself to suppose anything.  
  
Most of the time his mind was carefully blank, the years spent  
  
practising meditation put to good work as he forced himself to forget  
  
it all. Wesley's betrayal, his son's eyes filled with hatred, the  
  
hope Lorne had given him... he might never know now, might never hear  
  
what she would have said. Because this time he really was trapped, no  
  
escape that he could see.  
  
  
  
It was a feeling he'd never encountered before, even after Buffy  
  
had sent him to Hell there had been something to fight, even at his  
  
lowest point he had been able to do something. Okay, so by sleeping  
  
with Darla he had risked losing his very soul, but at least he'd been  
  
able to take action even if that action had been to almost destroy  
  
himself. He had wanted to feel, and felt he had, and from that  
  
despair had come the most precious thing he knew. Or had known. The  
  
ache in his chest returned. He couldn't even move enough to  
  
effectively throw himself against the walls of his cage. In the  
  
beginning he had screamed with frustration, that had been a mistake,  
  
a big mistake, it used air and the air in his coffin was becoming  
  
stale, foul smelling. It led to the gut reaction of nausea from the  
  
part of him which would never fully accept that he didn't need oxygen  
  
to survive. He was beaten. Truly for the first time: he was really  
  
beaten.  
  
  
  
Sometimes he dreamed. Simply groups of pictures floating across his  
  
brain, sometimes good, sometimes bad. Always the sound of his son.  
  
His son! The one thing he'd always known he couldn't have as a  
  
vampire, the one thing that even Angelus had wanted. A child to carry  
  
it on, something that was his which would grow in the world. He had a  
  
son, and when he slept the only thing he could hear was the boy's  
  
hatred as he proclaimed him a liar. And his own voice hopelessly  
  
promising his love, love the child didn't want. Love that never  
  
seemed to do anyone any good. He was always glad to awaken and then  
  
wished again for sleep so he could hear that voice.  
  
  
  
He was sure that he must be asleep now, though this dream was unlike  
  
any that he'd had in the goodness knows how long since he'd been down  
  
here. The dim light that filtered down from above seemed to lighten a  
  
little more, painting the picture before him a little more brightly  
  
so that he could distinguish the colors. He was looking down at the  
  
sand, the sand which the bottom of this coffin was embedded in, the  
  
sand which rested at the bottom of the ocean. There were human feet  
  
walking across it. Or at least he assumed they were human, encased as  
  
they were in scuffed black shoes. His eyes drifted upward over dark  
  
trousers, seemingly completely dry, as if the water around them were  
  
an insignificant detail.  
  
  
  
He looked further, oddly calm when confronted with the impossible,  
  
recognition was dawning. He looked past the flare of red which was  
  
the new comer's short sleeved shirt. It opened wide at the collar  
  
revealing a grey T-shirt, chest hair, a tiny cross around a familiar  
  
neck and a knowing grin.  
  
  
  
"Angel man. Long time no see."  
  
  
  
"Doyle.", he searched for words, the thing to say which would  
  
communicate his shock and joy at seeing his friend again, "you're  
  
dead.". That probably wasn't it.  
  
  
  
"No fooling you is there? Though considering your crowd of late I  
  
could understand it if you felt the need to check."  
  
  
  
"You know about that?". He was asleep again, that was the only  
  
explanation for this. It was the only way Doyle could be there at  
  
all, let alone bone dry and carefree. The ghost, or dream or vision  
  
or trick, reached out of Angel's eyeline and grabbed a stool which  
  
he, it?, swung across the seabed and underneath himself, itself?, in  
  
one quick and causal movement.  
  
  
  
"They give you a crash course in recent history before they put you  
  
out again. The Powers that Be giving out more information than they  
  
need to. Weird right? Hardly seems like their style.". Then Doyle,  
  
suddenly he was sure that it really was Doyle, smiled his chancer's  
  
grin. "But then I for one am not gonna argue with them."  
  
  
  
"It does seem alittle strange." Angel's voice sounded stiff and  
  
restrained even to his own ears. But what was he supposed to say, I'm  
  
sorry I let you die? God, I'm sorry I let you die.  
  
  
  
"Angel, like I always said, you really need to loosen up. Not so much  
  
as to release the big guy but come on..."  
  
  
  
"Well, things have been better." . And the Understatement of the year  
  
award goes to...  
  
  
  
"So I see. I'd have called to give you a chance ta neat the place up  
  
first but ya didn't seem to be in the book for some reason." From  
  
his pockets Doyle produced a packet. Angel eyed it hopefully as Doyle  
  
unwrapped the paper around it. He had always been able to count on  
  
Doyle... Okay, so maybe not to pay his bills but this was a time of  
  
crisis and his friend had returned from beyond the grave. Anything he  
  
had brought with him would surely be useful.  
  
  
  
"I'll have to get that seen to. The Powers sent you back?" One more  
  
layer to go...  
  
  
  
"Sorta, apparently I died a noble death and the Powers, being kinda  
  
sentimental, reckon that gives me rights. If you call being ripped  
  
outta heaven for one final astral tour a right.", he took the  
  
contents of the packet and raised it to his month, biting into it  
  
wholeheartedly and speaking from then on with his month full and  
  
crumbs escaping every which way. "I'd call it one hell of a pain in  
  
the arse myself."  
  
  
  
"Doyle. What are you doing here? What is that? And can you get me out  
  
of this damn box?" Angel practically screamed.  
  
  
  
"These? These are ham sandwiches, what did you think they were?  
  
Unfortunately the having no physically solid hands kinda gets in the  
  
way of opening things... As to what I'm doing here, well that should  
  
be obvious. I'm having dinner with you."  
  
  
  
"You're eating ham sandwiches. You came back from the dead and that's  
  
all you're going to do?"  
  
  
  
"They say it's all I need to do, that and talk. I'm good at that."  
  
Man had a point, but still...  
  
  
  
"Ghosts eat ham."  
  
  
  
"Nah, astral projections eat ham. Your usual ghost prefers cheese...  
  
though I'm not exactly sure I should be breaking bread with you  
  
seeing as you've been moving in on my girl and all."There was a look  
  
of mild reproach on his friend's face. Angel felt it like a punch to  
  
the stomach.  
  
  
  
"Cordelia and I... Doyle, things change and after you died... I don't  
  
even know if she likes me.." He didn't know if there was a way to  
  
explain how he'd come to feel the things he did.  
  
  
  
"What are you? Twelve? Of course, she likes you. Any fool, even this  
  
one, could tell you that. Didn't the green fella tell you that?" The  
  
reproach had gone, this was the gentle chiding of a friend who  
  
thought he was being an idiot.  
  
  
  
"You believe what he said?"  
  
  
  
"Course I do. If you can't trust a bartender then who can you trust?  
  
Listen man, look after the princess right?" Doyle's voice had slipped  
  
into that serious tone he had learnt to always pay attention to,  
  
after all, you didn't hear it that often.  
  
  
  
"I'm not much use to her down here."  
  
  
  
"Then don't be down here. That''s what I came to tell you man, you've  
  
gotta stop feeling sorry for yourself and figure out a way to get up  
  
there. Broody suits you but it helps no one. Especially not  
  
Cordelia." He pushed away the stool, and marched toward Angel.  
  
  
  
"And how exactly do I get up there then?"  
  
  
  
"Dunno. Not my department. Heroics is your gig remember?" An angry  
  
Doyle was almost intimidating.  
  
  
  
"Not exclusively" Angel said it gently, remembering his friend's  
  
final moments. They both stood there, eyes locked, both recalling a  
  
bright light. Doyle broke contact first, finishing the sandwich crust  
  
with a satisfied gulp and turning back to take his seat again. A fish  
  
swam past and into the weeds.  
  
  
  
"You know they made her a real princess?"  
  
  
  
"Didn't I always say?"  
  
  
  
"You really can't help me?"  
  
  
  
"Nope. No, what ya call it?, no physical presence. No magic powers.  
  
Just light and sound. Nothing I can do to help."  
  
  
  
"So why did they send you? What's the point?"  
  
  
  
"The point is hope. You have hope. Everything you need to do, I'm  
  
here to tell you that you can do it. My time is past. You've got your  
  
own little family going up there. They'll give you what you need.  
  
Even the ones you aren't talking to right now. Even that English guy  
  
you found to replace me."  
  
  
  
Angel swallowed the bile that rose in his throat when he thought of  
  
Wesley, "No one replaced you."  
  
  
  
"Then who's been keeping up the drinking and gambling part of the  
  
battle against evil?" the Irishman cracked.  
  
  
  
"Somehow we've done without it." He tried to keep his face deadpan.  
  
  
  
"Charming" Doyle laughed and then his face was serious again. "I've  
  
got to go."  
  
  
  
"You've only just got here." Angel could feel his friend being ripped  
  
away from him again, and the feeling of helplessness returned to his  
  
stomach.  
  
  
  
"I'm going back somewhere safe and warm, you gonna stay here?"  
  
  
  
"No but I don't see how.."  
  
  
  
"Well then I've done my job. I hope I don't see you for a very long  
  
time my friend. Tell Cordy... tell her it's okay when it's over."  
  
  
  
"I will", there was something else he had to say before it was too  
  
late, "Doyle? I'm sorry I let you die."  
  
  
  
But he was already alone again. All he could do was vow it wouldn't  
  
be for long.  
  
  
  
A little fish darted out of the weeds again, this time though, it was  
  
the one doing the chasing.  
  
****  
  
Thank you for reading. 


End file.
